"Rock Climbing is not for me."

That’s what I told myself the first time I was brought to a rock climbing gym and was forced to trust my life to some low-grade rental equipment.

And yet there I was, four years later, holding onto a steep overhang of sandstone and shale, some 250 feet over snow covered ground.

How the hell did I get here?

After a long break from that first outing, I decided to give the sport a second chance a couple of years later. Once I got over the initial fear of equipment failure, I found myself being drawn to the challenge of climbing. The process of mapping “beta” from the ground. Navigating your way up the wall in defiance of the forces of gravity attempting to pull you back down. Then meticulously and mindfully shifting your balance to reach that next hold. A hold which at times may only be a fraction of an inch wide. And perhaps most addictively, the adrenaline rush of making it to the top of a route you thought you couldn't handle.

It was a moving meditation. As much mental as it was physical. I was hooked. I soon cancelled my traditional treadmill and weight machine gym membership, and "Rockville Climbing Center" became my gym.

I quickly became a regular and formed a few friendships and "belaytionships" with some of the other climbers. One of these friends, Niko, was moving across the country and wanted to have one last outing on a real rock-face before heading out west. I jumped at the opportunity to tag along to send him off.

The weekend rolled around and we headed up to the Shawangunk Mountains (The Gunks) in upstate New York.

As we made our approach to the wall I began the think, "I may have gotten myself in over my head." I had been going to the rock climbing gym about two to three times a week for the past year, but still very much considered myself a novice. The climbers I was with, on the other hand, were at the gym almost every night and for hours on end. To them, the gym was just practice for their time in between their countrywide and international trips to world-class climbing routes. I was inspired and humbled by their skills and dedication. I was definitely the rookie of the group.

I probably should have asked more questions on the drive up.

As my gaze slowly traversed up this 24 story wall in awe, I wondered out loud:

"So... how do we get up there to secure the top rope?"

"Oh we're not top roping. We're trad climbing."

For the past year I had only done "top roping" which is climbing up with an already prefixed rope at the top of the route. You can do this outdoors, but it requires you being able to hike up to the top some other way, and then either rappelling down or hiking back the long way around. Today however... we would be trad climbing.

Starting the climb on High E (High Exposure) at the Gunks

Trad climbing involves you climbing up and placing, "protection" as you go. This protection is usually in the form of cams or nuts being placed into cracks and crevasses in the rock. You then clip in and climb up to the next good spot to place another one.

The tricky part here is that unlike top roping, when you fall trad climbing, you fall the distance to the last piece of protection you set... times two. So if you climbed five feet above your last clip-in and then slip off a hold, you will plunge ten feet before your belayer catches you. And that's if all goes well. On rare occasions protection has been known to "pop", causing the climber to plunge even further to the next piece of solidly placed protection... times two.

For this reason, leading a trad climb requires a great deal of climbing skill and knowledge of where and how to set protection properly. Luckily we had our buddy "Link" leading us up today. An extremely capable and talented climber that I would trust my life to. Mainly because I had no other choice.

As Link and Niko were staging the gear, I began to look everything over, trying to absorb everything they were teaching me about all the new outdoor climbing gear I was seeing for the first time. It was then that I realized and blurted out:

"There's no way this rope is long enough for this wall."

"Yeah man. It's a multi-pitch climb."

"Multa... multi-who?"

Multi-Pitch. We would climb half way up the wall. Find a small ledge to stop on, far above the tree tops. Pull the rope up, and start again. But first, we had to get off the ground.

Link went first, meticulously setting the protection as he went. Niko belayed from the ground until Link could reach the ledge where we would set up the second pitch. After Link rigged up a lead belay from above, Niko hopped on the wall. I watched closely and would follow suit, doing my best to find the same holds my two experienced companions were using.

The rock was cold. I wasn't used to that. As I made my way up above the leafless forest canopy I could feel the wind pick up slightly. After about twenty minutes on the wall I realized, having only ever had been to an in-door gym before, this was by far the highest I had ever climbed. Being the third climber on a trad climb, it was my job to "clean" the route of protection, clipping the bulky cams and nuts to my harness as I went up, making me incrementally heavier with every few feet of altitude I gained.

My arms grew ever so slightly more tired with each new hold.

My hands were getting colder.

The ground was getting further and further away.

The fear of gear failure began to creep back in.

I finally made it to the ledge, with hands almost numb. As I pushed myself up I thought, "That actually wasn't so bad". The holds were great. Almost all of them were very positive jugs. No crimps, pinches, or slopers. If the second half of the climb was that easy, we'd be at the top in no time.

The second half of the climb was not easy.

The name of this particular route was "High Exposure" (or more commonly, High E). And it is on this second pitch from which it gets it's name. Above the ledge and around corner was the "crux" of the climb. An over hung ceiling in which, to a novice like me, it seemed you had to defy the laws of gravity and physics to get around.

Again, Link went first. He looked like Spider-Man climbing that thing. He got around the overhang as if it was nothing. It might as well have been a ladder. But unlike the first half, I would now climb second, with Niko coaching me from the ledge.

I got to the overhang. My mind was racing, trying to figure how I could possibly position my body so that I could blindly reach to grab a hold over the edge. And after that, somehow get the rest of my body to follow without swinging off. I looked up to see where Link placed the next nearest piece of protection on the slightly overhung wall above. I realized, if I were to fall while attempting this move I would swing out into the fresh air, dangling high above the trees. Highly exposed.

I looked down.

I should not have looked down.

An overhang on the High E (High Exposure) route at the Gunks

I froze. It was not so much a fear of heights as it was, again, a fear of the gear failing. To make this move work I would have to shove my foot into a small crack, push as much pressure as I could down onto my toes, use my left forearm to pull my hips up to the roof of the overhang, making my torso parallel to the ground as I use my right arm to fish for a hold and pull me over the edge. All the while trusting completely that the cam would not pop, which would cause me to crack my spine on the ledge below.

Why did I get into rock climbing again?

As impossible as it was for me, there was no other option. I could not safely repel from this location, and I'd be damned if I was going to let this wall defeat me. So, there was no where to go but up. Well that's not entirely true, but I willfully pushed out of my mind the second possibility of going down very, very rapidly. When I finally got my footing, I placed my faith into the gear, and threw my full weight into the move.

Jackpot!

With a sigh of relief, my hand grabbed the best hold it had ever grabbed. Using my right arm to pull me up, I swung my left around, and placed my foot where my left hand had been on the overhang roof to push me up the rest of the way.

I had done it. I had made the crux of High E my bitch. My heart was pumping, adrenaline was rushing, I was on top of the world in more ways than one. Nothing could discourage me at this point.

I looked up.

There was still a good 70 feet of slightly overhung wall left to climb. My forearms were burning. My hands were now thoroughly and indisputably numb.

Shit.

I could no longer tell how good of a hold I had, or how tightly I was gripping them. I would climb up a few feet and then have to take a break, hanging with my arms straight to put the weight onto my bones to give my muscles a rest. At the same time, at the advice of Niko, I alternated holding my hands on the back of my neck to warm them up. The top of the mountain was right there. I could see it. Inch by frozen inch, I crept closer.

Finally, with arms burning, I pulled myself onto the top of the cliff with what little strength I had left. As I looked up I was greeted by Link, smiling with an expression that read, "What took you so long?" Niko joined us a few minutes later. We had made it. We were rewarded with the most amazing views of the New Paltz area I had ever seen. It felt like this should have been the time to crack open a beer in celebration. But there was still more work to be done. Arguably the most dangerous work. Getting back down.

With a crash course in girth hitched prusik knots and repel techniques, I stood with my two feet firmly planted on the edge of a cliff, legs 45 degrees out from the wall, and my ass hanging over 250 feet of open air. With nothing but a Black Diamond ATC belay device standing between me a certain death, I no longer had any energy left for fear.

I began to walk down the wall. Now that my amygdala was far too tired to register any fear, this part was actually kind of fun. We made it down to the half way point ledge, pulled the other side of the rope down and Niko began to make our second repel anchor. It was at this point where I looked down at the route we came up, and up at the one we just came down, that I fully began to appreciate the sheer awesomeness and grand scale of the endeavor we just undertook. I had never done anything like this before in my life.

It was terrifying, and it was amazing.

There were times on the wall that day, staring up at that overhang, that I truly believed that I could not possibly do it. No way in hell. And yet I did anyway. As my feet hit the ground and we packed up to head home, I began to think about what other things I can’t do. And which of those I will do anyway.